ReRoute
by Motorcycle.Iris
Summary: Sometimes, a charming exterior can hide a dirty secret.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Bear with me, here. I don't EVER write about sports, or players or anything like this. I literally dreamed this crazy story last night. Er...a portion of it that'll come in later chapters. A very steamy...window fogging scene. It's rattled around in my head most of the day and I figured this would be a good place to get it out. It's light a fluffy for the most part, very different from my story Rebirth. **

**Since I don't make it a habit to follow individual players, please anyone that finds any discrepancies in Ozil's life that don't make sense, let me know. I'll happily correct my errors.**

**Enjoy. ;)**

2010

Mesut slammed his hand down on the counter, frustrated and angry. The language barrier was irritating enough, but this clerk was ostentatiously unbearable. He muttered a string of curses under his breath in German.

"Sir," the bleach blonde curly-haired woman addressed him in her deep south twang, "There just ain't nothing I can do for ya, now I'm sorry." She blew out a large pink bubble, popping her gum before she continued and clacking her shiny red fake nails on a keyboard. "If you maybe could have learned to speak American neither of us would be upset right now, bless your heart," she haughtily grumbled.

"English is the language of your country. I am an international footballer, what I can say that will give me an auto so that I may just leave?" he all but seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At six foot, he towered over the seated woman, glowering. Wasn't southern America supposed to have "southern charm?" So far, all Mesut could see was ignorance, incompetence, and laziness. He had been flying over the US when his flight had been rerouted due to storms. He needed to be in Madrid tonight, and he was stuck in Paducah, KY. At this point, he'd rather drive a car than deal with anyone else in the United States. It was already dusk, he knew he wouldn't make it far, and was in a hurry to just get away.

His phone rang for the twentieth time, and he silenced it again. After producing identification, credit cards, and signing many forms, he was given keys and a car. After practically running away from the ticket counter, he stepped through the automatic doors into a covered pavilion, searching for the number matching the car on his key ring. Climbing inside, he set the GPS and sped away, desperate to get into the Kentucky storms and away from the people.

It was bad enough that he had left his team to go see his girlfriend, Anna, and she had ripped his heart out. Things had been rocky since the move to Madrid, but she was getting cold feet on their finding a place together. He could feel the end coming, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful for it, or dreading it. His coach was going to be furious that he'd be behind schedule. His phone rang, and slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he cursed again, launching his phone at the dashboard. Seeing it shatter, he suddenly realized how rash of a mistake that was.

'Oh well,' he thought, 'I'll just drive until I get tired. Tomorrow will be better."

* * *

Jess had had a less than thrilling day. The toilet had overrun in room six, the blinds committed suicide in room nine, and room two had three small children that brought noise complaints from rooms one and four.

'At least the air conditioning hasn't crapped out,' she thought, looking outside at the muggy September night. The storms had left the air outside absolutely oppressive.

She leaned against the front counter of her bed and breakfast and sighed, running her hand through her thick, layered shoulder length light brown hair. The summer had kissed several blonde highlights into her locks, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out against her dark tanned skin. She had run her B&B for three years, now, it was left to her in her grandmother's will and she had dropped everything in her life to come to the sticks of Lone Oak, Kentucky.

Dropping everything also meant dropping her soon to be ex-husband, who currently occupied room three. The establishment had originally been left to them both, and he had wanted nothing to do with it. She was already looking for an out in their marriage, she stupidly married at eighteen, and this was the perfect opportunity. He'd ignored it at first, and that had been fine by her. She had more important things to worry about, like reviving her grandmother's legacy. At the time, the place was a run down 11 bedroom Victorian mansion off Starr Hill Road, sitting on six acres of lush green land. Jess had sunk her entire life into reviving the place, and with extensive online promoting she had carved out a small name for herself. She was only 28, and she was running a successful little place to call home.

Her ex had lost his job, and then his house had burned down while he was drunk at the bar one night. Without her to keep him on track, he had reverted back to that teenage boy she had married. Of course he came crawling back, looking for a way out of the divorce, and excited for her success. The schmuck had stayed at the B&B for about a month now, and Jess didn't have the heart to turn him out. Sure, he made things a little awkward sometimes, but she wasn't heartless.

Swooping her bangs out of her bright green eyes, she looked up from the divorce papers in front of her as the front door chimed. Before her stood a very tall and slender man, every bit of six feet with a faded haircut of almost black hair. He had a long wide nose, a broad forehead, and an oval face with a strong square jaw. Black track pants, a white T-shirt underneath his black Adidas jacket, and a bag over his shoulder, she couldn't help but feel he looked familiar. He had large brown eyes, long limbs, and wore black, flat round stud earrings in each ear. He looked weary and worn, but then again, most patrons did when they walked into her door at 9pm. Jess straightened, and greeted the man.

"Hey there," her mild drawl came out. Living away from the south for so long had softened her accent. "Can I help you?"

* * *

Mesut stepped through the door of a charming, massive Victorian. His GPS had failed him terribly, and he was turned around on winding scenic back roads somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Frustration seeming to be the theme of his day, he pulled over at the first sign of lodging for the night. The walls were a muted pale green, with scarlet oriental rugs covering the dark wood floors. Ornate antique lamps softly lit the dim foyer-turned-reception area. Stairs to the right curved into the place, and a small grey reception desk filled the space.

The woman behind the counter was like a breath of fresh air. She was light, and natural, and pretty; compared to the woman from the airport, anyway. Her smile was bright, as were her vivid eyes that were offset by her simple heather grey t-shirt that hugged her short curvy upper body, her lower half was obscured by the counter. Anna was tall and sultry, dark eyes and hair, always glittering with jewelry and make-up. Mesut stopped short of the counter, suddenly at a loss for what to say.

"Do you need a room? Directions?" She raised an arched brow in question. He watched her clasp her hands in front of her, noticing her unpainted nails. She wore no jewelry. She had a heart shaped face, a small nose, and a full mouth with a natural pout. He stared at her mouth a beat too long.

Gathering his wits, he thought for a moment to formulate an English response, "Please, a bed. I am afraid that I am lost, and need of rest." He watched her eyes widen at his accent, and was equal amounts relieved and surprised to hear her respond.

"I'm sorry, but your accent? Sprechen se Deutsch?"

He could have cried from relief. Immediately switching over to German, he eagerly replied to her, resting his forearms on the counter, "You speak German? Oh, that is wonderful! I'm traveling, and I'm so lost. My plane was rerouted, then I was stranded, and I couldn't get another flight out until tomorrow. The people were terrible, at that point, I didn't care anymore and rented a car, and you speak German?!" His words rushed out, and he watched her face colour crimson clear down to her neck and beneath the collar of her shirt. He gulped, fleetingly imagining what else was blushing beneath her shirt.

"Wait, wait!" she responded nervously, "Ein Bisschen, ein bisschen. Langsam, bitte," she pleaded, laughing. _A little, a little! Slowly, please_. Mesut laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, incredibly happy to have a small amount of familiarity. They continued on in German, him speaking slowly and with long vowels and small words. He was delighted with this small, beautiful woman. She had him sign into a log book, took his credit card information, and grabbed a key attached to a purple piece of yarn. She came around the counter, brushing past him to show him to his room for the evening, his stomach tingling where her shoulder brushed past. She was short, her head coming to his sternum. He couldn't complain at all about walking behind her, her curves continued past her top and he wasn't at all displeased to follow her denim-shorts clad lower half up the stairs. Mesut discreetly glanced to her shapely legs, and admired her calves, noticing that she was barefoot.

She stopped at a door that was almost at the end of the second floor, before another set of stairs that led to what he presumed to be the fourth floor. Not paying the least bit of attention to anything besides her legs, Mesut was embarrassed to crash into her softly. He jumped back apologizing profusely, but secretly enjoyed how she stammered and coloured a deeper shade of red than the first time she had blushed. Perhaps he wasn't the only one with stars in his tired eyes.

"I-I'm at the top of those stairs, a-at the end of the hall. I figured that if you needed anything, you'd need to be able to find me easily. As far as I know, I'm the only one on the property that speaks - um - German," she spoke to the door, and thrust the key into the lock, cracking the door to his room. He watched her whirl quickly, her dark golden hair the colour of honey in the dim light spinning to her left shoulder, and before he could stop himself, he caught her small right wrist in his large right hand. She was clearly flustered, and he thought to himself just how attractive she was.

"Thank you -" he furrowed his brow, "What is your name?" He asked her in English.

"Oh! I'm so-I'm sorry. Jess. Uh, Jessica. Is, um, me." She smiled a shy, close lipped smile.

Mesut released her wrist, and moved to go into the room, "Thank you, Jezz," he said her name softly with his thick accent. He smiled at her, and closed the door with a quiet click. The room was simple; dark hardwood floors, a queen sized four poster bed in dark mahogany facing him from the far wall with a fluffy white down comforter and equally fluffy white pillows. There was a plush red rug beneath the bed, a long low dark chest to the right of the bed near the window with six drawers and bronze handles with a tall rectangular mirror atop it. To the left was a bathroom with white and black tile and a glass shower, with red rugs and towels to match the rug beneath the bed.

Before he could stop himself, his mind filled with thoughts of the innkeeper in that shower, pressed against the glass, him behind her...He groaned and shook his head, dropping his bag and quickly moving across the room to the shower. He stripped quickly and let the icy blast of water hit him in the chest, he never moved to heat the water.

* * *

Jess practically flew up the stairs to her bedroom, taking them two at a time. Once inside, she slid down to the floor against the door, her chest heaving with her rapid breathing, heart hammering.

"Oh, what the hell?!" She muttered at herself angrily. Since leaving her husband, she had poured herself into the B&B, never once stopping to notice if her patrons were attractive or not. This tall, dark eyed German was different. She could still feel his long fingers clasped firmly around both of her shoulders, him pressed against her back. His smooth, soft voice had a soothing quality to it; and the way he said her name...she shook her head to snap out of it.

"I need a shower...a long, cold shower," she groaned, running her hands over her face. Her bedroom was all dark woods and stained glass; a black wrought iron canopy bed against the far wall had cream coloured sheer drapes, she had splurged on an expensive pillow top mattress with soft rose-petal pink satin sheets and a pale yellow down comforter. Right next to the door was her long antique white dresser, that always held fresh flowers from the grounds. The bay window seat on the right wall had the same pillow tones as her bed linens, and her bathroom across from it had a cast iron tub with a waterfall shower head above. Muted greys, metallic silvers, and soft lavenders made up her bathroom. Her room was her safe haven.

Emerging from her less than warm shower, Jess wrapped herself up in a fluffy robe and a towel on her head. She sat at the window seat and parted the cream coloured drapes, the moon was high and she sighed at the breathtaking view from the top of her home. She had just pulled on a pair of navy blue satin pants and a loose grey sleep shirt when there was a knock on her door. Instantly blushing at who it could be, she wrapped her hair back up into the towel, and cracked the door, colour from her face quickly draining to normal and standing taller.

"What do you need, Jake?" Jess' ex stood outside her door, well, more leaned, and she could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath. He was tall at 5'8, but she had always been able to handle him. His drunk brown eyes swimming in his pale, pudgy face. Black hair mussed and greasy, sticking out at all angles. His white t-shirt was grungy, his black basketball shorts wrinkled. He looked down at her, and breathed into her face. It took everything she had not to puke.

"Want to come downstairs? Have a beer?" He leered at her, and she suddenly realised her open neck sleep shirt was draped haphazardly with one of her shoulders exposed. She indignantly adjusted herself and moved to close the door.

"You look and smell like you've had enough, Jake," she shut the door with a thud.

Removing the towel again, she brushed her hair out, only to hear knocking again. She rolled her eyes and opened the door again. There he stood, in all of his greasy glory, once again.

"Jake, I'm going to bed," she tried to keep her voice from rising, and failed.

"Hey, sound s'like a good ideas to me," he slurred and pushed her door open, moving towards her bed. Appalled, Jess all but shrieked, "Get out of my room!" She wrenched him back by his shirt collar, flung him out the door, and closed and locked it in a huff. She was positively fuming.

* * *

Mesut had been laying in the bed, trying to sleep, when he thought he heard something outside of his room. Putting his ear to the door, he heard the innkeeper, "Get out of my room!" followed by a commotion. Without thinking, he raced out the door and up the stairs. He passed a far-gone drunken man that was stumbling down the stairs, glanced down at him and kept moving. There was a door at the top of the landing, and he knocked swiftly.

What answered the door was breathtaking. It was the innkeeper, but she was clearly furious. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled like angry emeralds, her hair was wild and half wet. She wore satin pajamas that hugged hips and hid her legs, and a long sleeved oversized top that exposed her throat, collar bone, and one shoulder down to almost the elbow. When she yanked the door open, she looked like she was about to punch him, he stepped back quickly. Her eyes widened in surprise, and that crimson colour spread quickly from her cheeks down her neck and disappeared beneath the shirt again.

"Mesut, I-" she started.  
"Jezz, I-" he started. "Are you ok?" He asked her. She nodded, looking at the floor, and clearly self conscious. "I could hear yelling," he prompted. She sighed, leaning on the open door, and halfway hiding her body behind it. She curled her hand nervously around the sleeve of her shirt, he inwardly frowned at that.

"Yeah, it's a long story, and he's a real jerk. I had it," she said, still looking at the floor.

An awkward silence ensued, Mesut began to turn away, when he heard her softly say, "Hey, thanks for checking on me." His only response was to turn his head and glance over his shoulder, smiling at her as he walked back down to his room.

* * *

Shirtless. Black cotton pants, and shirtless. Jess bit her lip as she lay in her bed in the dark. Mesut had come to check on her, and he was shirtless. And sculpted. And she was fairly certain her grandmother would have tossed him into the antique wooden wash barrels out back and used his abs to scrub stains out of the laundry. Her sleep was fitful that night, filled with images and sensations of dark eyes and hair, a tan sculpted torso, and long slender hands.

The next morning was rough for Jess, her fitful and heated dreams hadn't allowed her much sleep. She threw on a pale blue knitted sweater that hit at her hips and dark jeans, slipping her feet into cozy socks and boots, she put her hair up into a loose braid and walked downstairs to the kitchens. Her staff was already up and preparing breakfast, she greeted them as she poured a steaming cup of coffee. She sat at her desk behind the counter in the entrance, and quickly wrote out the checks she needed to mail off that day. Scooping up the freshly sealed envelopes, she took her coffee with her down the steps of the wrap around porch and out the long driveway to the mailbox.

Taking her time to breath in the crisp morning air, she shoved her right hand in her pocket, sipping from her mug in her left hand. Hearing a car door open, she looked over to the parking lot to see Mesut tossing his bag into the back seat of his rental car. He leaned on the top of the car's door and looked at her, large dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and he smiled languidly at her. If she found him attractive in the dim lighting of the B&B, he was dazzlingly handsome in the sunlight. Jess felt her heart stutter, it shouldn't have been possible for such a pretty man to exist.

Instead of blurting that out, she gestured to the car with her coffee cup, "Leaving already, huh?"

Mesut replied in German, "I am. I have to catch that flight," he closed the car door and closed the short distance between them. "I have the key to my room," he dangled the purple yarn in front of him.

Jess opened her right hand beneath it, "You should stay with us again, have a better experience than the one you had yesterday," she laughed, a bit nervous.

After dropping the key into her palm, she was shocked that Mesut then covered her hand in both of his. He turned her hand palm down, and lifted it to his face. Placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles, he said, "I'd like that very much, we can speak more German to one another." He dropped her hand, walked back to his rental and drove off.

Jess couldn't believe it.

She was swooning.


	2. Chapter 2

After a long flight, a thorough ass chewing from his coach, an exhaustive practice, and severe jet-lag, Mesut was ready to collapse by the time he arrived at his hotel. He'd only been on the Real Madrid squad for a month, and he was already being singled out by the coaches and the media for his "excessive" lifestyle; the way he travelled all over the globe to spend time with his girlfriend, Anna. The tabloids made him out as a sex-crazed footballer...and was it really far from the truth? He'd be 22 in a month, he was an athlete; his testosterone was high. What else was expected of him?

He sighed, placing his keys on the table in the entryway, not noticing the second set of keys in the bowl. Making his way through the suite, he settled on the couch in front of the home listings the real estate agent had dropped off earlier in the week. One of his team mates, Sergio, had recommended a neighborhood in Alcobendas, and he really liked one of the homes. It was a fifteen minute drive to the stadium, private area. If only he could get Anna to figure out what she wanted...

Mesut slapped the papers on the table and groaned in frustration, standing and walking into the kitchen. As he was scrounging for something to eat, he spilled the bag of coffee on the counter. When the aroma hit his nose, he was reminded of the innkeeper in the sunlight, with her cup of coffee in the morning. Her hand had smelled like coffee and gardenias. He was pulled from his thoughts by a sound in the back of the suite. Frowning, he called out, "Alo?" Stepping around the counter and moving towards the bedroom.

The ensuite door opened to reveal his girlfriend in nothing but a towel. The sight would normally make him very happy, but with how they left things a few days ago, he wasn't the slightest bit interested.

"Anna," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Silly Mesutti, I live here, too," she smiled a coy smile at him and sat on the bed.

"I thought you would be with your sister longer, especially after..." Mesut couldn't finish his thought. He cringed at her pet name. Instead of bringing it up again, he simply sighed and asked, "Is it done?" Any and all attempts from Anna to be pleasant instantly faded. She stomped off of the bed, dropping the towel intentionally and started rummaging through her suitcase.

Anna was a German model, and a married woman. They had been together for just over a year, and she had excuse after excuse for not finalizing the divorce. There were also tabloid rumours that she was seeing a rapper on the side. Mesut was beginning to feel like he was dating a gold digger.

"I've told you, these things take time. Why don't you trust me?" She whined petulantly, slipping a silk dress over her head.

"Anna, it doesn't take _that _long for a divorce to go through. I don't want to be in this hotel anymore, I want us to start our lives..." he trailed off, stopping himself before he could blurt out that he didn't want to start a life with her if he couldn't trust her. He was tired, she made him tired.

"We CAN start our lives! This changes nothing!" She wailed, storming through the hotel room.

"Anna!" He chased after her, trying to think of a way to defuse the situation, he just wanted to eat and to sleep. He caught up to her in the kitchen, "Ann, I'm sorry. You know I love you," he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, on that one. "Let's get something to eat, yeah?" He didn't feel like going out, but she loved when he took her to dinner., and he was too tired to fight with her again. She pouted, leaning back against the counter.

"What were you thinking?" she sniffed, her face upturned.

"I'd love a burger."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather have a salad, and champagne. Are you wearing...that?" She gestured to his track pants and tank top.

Mesut sighed, knowing he'd lost, "No, I'll go shower and change."

* * *

The brilliant November Kentucky sunshine was still warm as it started its descent into the horizon, Jess leaned back from the B&B's front flower beds and wiped her brow with her forearm. It had been a beautiful Saturday, and she had been pulling weeds and clipping various flowers for around the B&B.

"You know you can hire a gardener, right?"

Jess sighed, the sunset suddenly spoiled, and went back to her work, not turning to face her husband. "Yes, but I like this. It's soothing, and I'm proud of my work," she clipped another gardenia and placed it into the brimming basket. She had been out there for hours, and was almost satisfied with her collection.

She heard Jake clomp down the steps, and sit on the bottom one, facing her.

"Hey, can we talk, please?"

She glanced his way, and continued her work, "There's nothing to talk about, Jake, unless you'd like to discuss paying me for room and board, and food, or moving out of my place of business."

"Come on, Jess. I was able to get work, I start Monday. I was hired on by a construction company. You remember when I worked construction, in the beginning of our marriage, right?"

"Yes, I do," she had had enough. Jess sat back on her haunches and rested her forearms on her knees, she looked at Jake; he was wearing his same attire of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. At least he had shaved, and he appeared to be sober. "I remember you constantly complaining that you made all the money while I put myself through school. I remember getting a job, and then you complaining that I was never home, because God forbid you work _and_ clean up anything. I remember how that was an awful cycle with you, one in which I could never win! I remember your drinking. I remember being miserable. Not much changed through the course of our marriage. Are we done, here? I have things to do," she stood, taking her basket with her and walking past him up the steps. He caught up with her at the screen door.

"Come on, I've changed. I'm going to do better, I'll prove it to you, babe," he looped a finger through her jean shorts belt loop, turning her to face him. "Please," he pleaded with her.

"Tell that to Stephanie, or to Chandra, or Nicole, or any number of the other women you had when you were supposed to be married to me," she swatted his hand away. "Just stop it. I signed the divorce papers and filed them yesterday, it'll be final in 60 days. It's _over_," she stressed. She turned her back and walked into the B&B, that was thankfully vacant this weekend. He followed her through the dining area to the kitchens, where she dropped her basket of flowers on the counter by the sinks, a row of vases already washed and waiting.

"I'll fight it, I'm not going to let you take me to the cleaners!" Jake huffed behind her.

"Oh, that's rich!" She removed her gloves and tossed them angrily onto the steel counter. "You have _nothing_ for me to take you to the cleaners _for_! _You_ owe _ME_ money, Jacob!"

Jake snatched her left wrist, looking at the large, expensive silver watch that dangled down her forearm. "That's a man's watch."

Jess yanked her arm away and went back to her work. "How shrewd of you to notice," she sneered. Mesut had left the watch behind on the nightstand in his room, Jess was notorious for losing her own items, so she wore it to keep up with it. He _had_ promised to come back, after all...

"Who is he?" Jake pressed, standing too close to her again.

"Stop it! Even if I were dating, it's not your business. We're divorcing. Accept it!" She began stripping leaves and trimming stems angrily.

Jake whirled her around, making her drop her flowers and her scissors in surprise. Before she knew what was happening, his face was against hers, his arms tightly around her. Jess clamped her teeth shut to his invasion, and was able to get her right arm free. With all of the force she could muster in her 116 pound body, she cocked her arm back and punched him in his left cheek bone. He released her, holding his face in shock; she had never struck him before.

Her chest heaving in anger, face flushed, and hair half falling from her ponytail, she seethed at him. "I want you gone in two weeks. Take your first paycheck, and use that for a deposit, anywhere."

"What if I don't have enough?" he asked her weakly, holding his face.

"I. Don't. Care," she seethed through gritted teeth. "You are not my responsibility anymore. I will file a _restraining order_ against you, I will call the _sheriff_, I will hire _bodyguards_ if I have to. You will be _gone_, two weeks from Monday, and I don't _ever_ want to see you again."

Jake stumbled out of the kitchen, but not before stopping off at the at the refrigerators and grabbing a case of beer.

* * *

It had been two months since Mesut had returned to Spain from the inn. He had settled on the home he wanted, Anna had left him after he pressured her to finalize her divorce again, and he had imploded. Throwing himself into his work, he trained until he collapsed, was praised for it, and took the first opportunity he could to get away from Spain. He was finally free to make his own choices. His career was beginning to kick off with Real Madrid, he wasn't pegged down with Anna any longer; he felt that he could breathe for the first time in months. For too long, Mesut had been the tree, battered by the storm; he had allowed his life to dictate him, and that was changing. He was becoming the storm, his life the tree; from now on, he would make his own choices for himself. He knew exactly who he wanted.

He navigated the winding back country roads, the sun setting over the greenery. Pulling into the inn, surprised to feel butterflies in his gut, he killed the ignition, shook his head and climbed from the rental car. There was an old, beat-up grey Nissan Pathfinder, and an older, but in better condition blue Chevy truck in the small gravel lot. The place seemed empty. The bell above the door announced his arrival, and he was disappointed to see the reception desk empty of the golden-haired face he wanted to see. Instead, from the left of the room, a man with dark hair and wrinkled clothing emerged carrying a case of beer under his arm in a huff. He was a head shorter than Mesut, and clearly perturbed, with a reddening welt on his cheek.

"Excuse me," Mesut asked him, "I'm looking for zeh innkeeper?"

Jake looked Mesut up and down, taking in his expensive shoes, jeans, and leather jacket. His styled hair, jewelry, sunglasses and single bag. He set the beer down on the reception desk, stuck his hand out and shook Mesut's hand more firmly than was required, "I'm her husband," he said pointedly. "What can I do for you?"

Stunned, Mesut recovered as quickly as he could, "Room eleven, please. I have stayed before." He watched the man click away at the computer on the desk, reach behind him and grabbed the key on the purple yarn.

"Mesut?" Mesut nodded, "I just need some ID and you're set," Mesut robotically produced identification, took the key, and went up to the room without thanking Jess' husband.

He sat on the bed, brow furrowed in confusion. 'Married,' he thought, crestfallen. He was sure that Jess didn't wear a ring, he would have seen it. He looked to the pamphlets on the bedside table, seeing one advertise a bar with burgers and sports channels. He needed to get out of the inn, he needed to think. First, he needed a shower.

Emerging from the steaming stall, Mesut wrapped a towel around his hips and walked to the mirror, looking at himself and asking if he was really willing to go down that path again. Before he could answer, he swore that he heard the door to his room open. Hearing a soft humming, he stepped to the door to see Jess with her back to him, arranging a vase of flowers on the dresser. She was scantily clad in short jean shorts and a skimpy orange tank top, dirt and sweat streaked on her legs and arms, hair disheveled. This time, he looked at her hand. No ring.

'Yes,' he thought to himself and he looked at her appreciatively, as she dropped something and bent down to pick it up, 'Yes, I do.' He stifled a groan, and was debating on how well it would go over if he were to remove the towel and go as feral on her as he wanted to when she met his gaze in the mirror, her eyes going wide.

* * *

Jess unlocked the last of the guest rooms to replace the flowers with fresh ones. She had gone through each room, as she did every week the weather permitted, and placed fresh flowers in them all. Breezing through the door quickly, she slid the old vase of wilted flowers to the side and placed the vase of fresh red roses and blue irises on the dresser, fiddling with them one last time before grabbing the old vase, humming softly to herself. Some of the flowers' dead leaves had fallen onto the floor, so she bent to retrieve them, and stuffed them into the vase of dying blooms. Glancing into the mirror on the dresser, she almost had a heart attack when she saw a very confused Mesut standing in the doorway of the bathroom on the opposite side of the room; his hair was wet and hung into his face, he _glistened_, his eyes hooded and dark and it was then that she realized he wore only the red towel low on his waist.


	3. Chapter 3

Jess closed her eyes, squinting them tightly, "This has to be a bad dream," she muttered. Opening one, she saw Mesut was still in the reflection of the glass, the look on his face now one of amusement. "Sun stroke," she whispered to herself, squeezing her eyes closed again, "Has to be sun stroke." She turned, clutching the vase of old flowers to her chest, and opened her eyes to see him still there, now leaning on the doorway, arms folded casually across his very broad, very well defined, very glistening chest. Jess felt her face flame clear down to her toes, and looked up at the ceiling.

"I am in your bad dreams?" Mesut questioned her in German, not moving from the spot.

"Oh my God, no," she stammered in English.

Mesut laughed, "So I am in your good dreams?" He continued in German, smiling toothily at her.

"Yes," she switched to German and started to move to the door, the water spot on the ceiling utterly fascinating.

"So I am in your dreams, then?" He was clearly amused.

"What? Uh-, Oh my God," she repeated, hand on the doorknob. "I'm gonna go, and why-? How did you-?" Her brain had officially left her. "Yeah. Bye," she whirled through the doorway, slamming it behind her and raced to her room, utterly mortified, and locked the door behind her.

'I'm going to burn to ashes on the spot,' she thought.

Discarding the vase onto her own dresser, she looked down at herself. She was covered in streaks of dirt, and positively grimy. She groaned and went straight for her shower, shedding her clothes along the way and not caring about where they landed. After quickly scrubbing herself squeaky, she threw her hair up into a tight, wet, messy bun, pulled on light worn jeans with holes in the knees and a soft pink T-shirt. Taking a few moments to pull her comforter up and straighten her room, she removed the dirty clothing from the floor to the hamper and cleaned up her vanity. Slipping on her flip flops, she grabbed her truck keys and flew down the stairs, needing to escape the B&B and clear her head. She stopped at the reception desk and scanned through the computer, seeing that Mesut had been checked into his room.

'Jacob,' she thought angrily. Jess huffed through the kitchen and deposited the vase on the counter, making a mental note to clean them tonight after dinner. She went out the back and climbed into her truck, driving straight for her favourite burger joint about seven miles east of her B&B. She needed greasy food, and a beer, and a clear head before she went back to the B&B. Her mind was a messy jumble of greasy lips, hooded dark eyes, and a glistening chest.

Seating herself onto the barstool at the counter, she greeted the owner, Jan, with a hug over the bar. The older woman had been her business mentor for as long as she could remember, even before she went to business school, and she looked to her like a second mother. She was tall and thin, always wore a short sleeved collared button down and jeans with a bar apron, her silvery hair up in a it customary bun. She had warm blue eyes, and took care of everyone that walked through her door; her sports bar was a town landmark.

"Hey there, sweetie, don't you look just beautiful, as always? How's my favourite patron and her bed and breakfast? Kick out that no good husband, yet?" She put a cold glass filled with frothy tap Guinness in front of Jess with a cocktail napkin under it.

Taking a long pull before answering, Jess felt herself instantly begin to calm down. "Two weeks, Jan, I gave him his notice today. It was...less than pleasant," she wrinkled her nose, wiping the foam from her upper lip with the back of her hand.

"That's great, hon! You want your burger?" Jan moved to the order screen.

"Double, please. I'm starving, been in the garden all day. Anything new?" She continued to drink her beer, looking at the tv screens above the bar to the various sports playing, landing on a replay of the Arsenal match from earlier in the day she had missed. Jess unintentionally stopped listening while she watched.

"Nah, been slow. It's that time of year. There's a foreign guy over there," Jan pointed to the corner of the bar with her thumb, "but other than him it's just been you locals today." Jan punched in her order of a double bacon bleu cheeseburger with onion rings and placed a fresh beer in front of her. "You take it easy, hon, food'll be out in a few." Jan went into the back, and Jess leaned over the bar to put her empty glass into the empty sink, looking back to the tv.

"Oh, come on, Nasri! What the hell was that?!" She shouted at the screen.

* * *

Mesut watched her from the corner of the bar, not quite sure what to do. He had heard her exchange with the bartender, and that had left him with a lot to think on. She was married, but she was divorcing. He didn't want to get into another situation like the one he had with Anna, but he couldn't deny that he was very attracted to the woman. She was beautiful, natural, open and friendly. She had an ass that he wanted to bite. She clearly ate real food and watched sports. Mesut had a moment of panic when he saw her watching soccer, briefly wondering if she knew who he was as she sunk her teeth into the burger that was bigger than her head.

'No,' he thought to himself, 'She isn't Anna. She's not looking for a meal ticket, and if she knew who I was, she would have told me.' He smiled when she began yelling about the player's performance on the screen.

Mesut made up his mind and slid off of his seat, he strode over and leaned near Jess' ear.

"You know, Samir Nasri is a terrible person. He plays with no heart, he plays for the fame and the money. He won't be at Arsenal long," he said to her in German. He watched her ears turn red, and she downed the last of her second beer in one gulp, signaling for another before taking a deep breath and turning to face him. Mesut had to tear his gaze away from her chest to her eyes so as not to be caught staring. She looked at him from beneath her lashes, and he ignored the urge to adjust himself. "May I join you, Fräulein?" he asked her in perfect English, indicating the stool to her left.

"Sure," she smiled at him fully, finishing her meal with one bite and another gulp of beer. "Hey, listen to you and your English!"

Mesut laughed, pleased that she noticed, "I have been practicing."

"Have you eaten? Can I buy you something - anything - to make up for...uh, earlier," she looked away and back to the game, face pink.

"It is forgotten, and I ate. You are...so small," he chuckled, "How ever have you eaten so much food?"

"I run, long distance. It can really help to channel a lot, creates an appetite, and...well, I was going to tonight, but this-" she indicated her beer, "-was much more enticing. It's been a long day," she sighed, resting her elbow on the bar, her eyes flicking between Mesut and the match.

They continued on, having a quiet conversation together. It was so easy to talk with her, Mesut watched how she would crinkle her nose when she laughed, gesture with her hands when she spoke, and the curve of her neck when she would look up at the match. By her fifth beer, her eyes were brighter, her cheeks flushed, and her posture more relaxed than he had seen her before. He learned that she had an older sister who was a sports writer, her parents were lawyers in New York, and that she had inherited the inn from her grandmother on her father's side. She touched on her pending divorce with pride and excitement, her independence in being a successful businesswoman, and that her favourite colour was purple. She watched American football and soccer, and it was only at the insistence of her sister that she had begun watching English soccer, as well.

"You want to head back to the bed and breakfast?" she asked suddenly. "I like this," she gestured between them, "but if I drink anymore it won't be a pleasant morning. Let's hang out...away from beer?" She giggled.

Mesut helped her from her stool, his hand on the small of her back to steady her. "I'd like that very much, Jezz," he loved the way her face coloured slightly when he said her name. "Come, I will drive us," he lead her from the bar to his car outside, she stumbled a bit along the way, and he walked her to the passenger side door, opening it for her. She placed her right hand on the car, her left on the open door, and he stood in front of her.

Jess swayed slightly, "Guess I had a bit more than I thought, huh?"

He didn't want to play games, he wanted his intentions very clear with this delightful little woman from the start. "Jezz," Mesut stood inches from her, he saw her pupils dilate and her cheeks colour, "I want to be very clear with you-" he stopped, noticing something silver on her wrist. "Wait, is that my watch?" He furrowed his brow, smiled at her, amused.

Jess shifted her feet, looking down at her toes. "Uhhh..." she trailed off, embarrassed. "See, I found it, and I suck with keeping stuff. What I mean, is that I lose shit. Like, all the time-" She chewed her lip.

Mesut slipped his right hand across her face, his palm on her cheek, his fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck, and he gently tilted her face to look at him. She didn't tense, she didn't pull back, so he took at as a sign to continue, and circled her waist with his left arm, resting his hand on her left hip. Mesut leaned down, brushed his lips lightly against hers. When her eyes slid closed, he smiled against her mouth, and pulled their bodies flush. She squeaked in surprise, but rested her hands against his shoulders, her forearms against his chest, she leaned into him and fisted his shirt.

Her lips were soft, her body was warm and responsive under his hands. Mesut broke the kiss, and leaned his forehead to hers. They looked at each other and grinned. "You taste like beer," he whispered to her in German, faking a disgusted shudder and eliciting a giggle from the breathy woman in his arms.

"What are you, a girl?" she responded in German, rolling her eyes and bringing her hands down to rest them around his waist, on the small of his back.

Mesut boldly pushed his hips forward into hers, "Care to find out?" he asked her, his voice dark and low. A thrill went through him when her eyes widened and she gasped in surprise. Before she could reply, he kissed her again, more firm and insistent this time.

Jess placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back, "Easy there, cowboy," she went back to English. "Let's get out of the bar parking lot, okay?" She grinned up at him and slipped into his rental car.

Taken by surprise, Mesut barked out a laugh and quickly closed the door after her, racing around the car and hopping into the driver's seat. He looked over to her as he buckled his seatbelt, noticing her place her hand to her forehead and reclining the seat a bit.

"Are you okay?" he started the car.

"Yeah, just a little headache. It's been a long day," she hiccuped.

Mesut widened his eyes and began to drive, glancing at her. "Are you drunk?"

"Nooooo," she giggled, laying back in the seat, slipping off her shoes and tucking her tiny feet beneath her.

Mesut chuckled and drove them in a comfortable silence back to the inn, music playing softly on the radio. He parked the car, turned off the engine and turned to see Jess fast asleep. Or passed out, he wasn't sure which. Gently shaking her shoulder, her head lolled to the side, and she curled up on the seat.

'Passed out,' he thought, 'Not awesome.'

He sighed, came around and retrieved her from the car, carrying her shoes in one hand. Her hair bun scratched his chin, and he laughed softly as he ascended the stairs to her room. Finding it unlocked, he walked into the space, pulled her fluffy blankets back and placed her on the bed, taking a moment to glance at her curvy body unabashedly before covering her. He sat on her bed, placing her shoes on the floor, and picked up a small notepad and a pen from her nightstand. After scribbling a note, he leaned over her and placed it onto the pillow on the other side of the bed. She inhaled deeply beneath him, and rolled over, now facing the notepad. Mesut gently released her hair from it's bun, and ran his fingers through the damp strands a few times so she wouldn't wake with a headache from sleeping with it up tight all night.

He locked the door before closing it behind him, descended to his own room, and readied himself for bed. It took him a very long time to fall asleep, he was keyed up and left wanting.

He was thrilled.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the window in Jess' bedroom. Without opening her eyes, she groaned, and reached for the pillow across from her to cover her face with. Instead of soft downy fluffiness, her hand felt paper crinkle beneath it.

'Wha-?' she thought, cracking an eye and seeing her notepad on the pillow. She grabbed it and rolled over, glancing at the clock on her nightstand as she did.

"OH MY GOD," she scrambled from her bed, she didn't realize that she dropped and kicked the notepad under her bed, it was past 10am. She flew through the room, peeling off last night's clothing and pulling a simple cotton dress over her head, throwing her hair into a quick ponytail, and bolting down the stairs. She skidded to a halt at the front bay window, seeing only Jacob's pathfinder in the lot. Slumping down into a chair, she groaned in dismay at having missed Mesut. Sighing in frustration, she sauntered into the empty kitchen and made herself some coffee with the Keurig.

Jess went through the embarrassing process of calling Jan and assuring her that she made it home unscathed without her keys or her truck. She apologized profusely, and made arrangements to retrieve her things later in the day. Checking the appointment section of her files and the computer, she saw that her day was completely free, with no one expected to check in, so she spent it washing the vases from the day before, cleaning up the B&B, and catching up on her emails with her sister.

After her afternoon was wrapped, she changed into her running gear and sat on her bed to tie her shoes. Jess suddenly had a foggy recollection of Mesut kissing her the night before. Stretching her arms over her head, and then side to side to stretch out her hips and her sides, she wasn't sure if she had dreamed that or not. She remembered them talking closely at the bar, but everything was pretty foggy after that fourth beer.

'Why am I such a lightweight?' she silently cursed, setting off down the road to the bar at a light jog, her thoughts keeping her company.

'Surely, I would remember that...he wouldn't have left if we had...if...' Jess increased her pace, frustrated. She was determined to run it out of her, and was pleasantly exhausted by the time she reached her truck. Jan had prepared one of her favourite pasta dishes and it was hot a ready when she strolled through the door; sweaty, breathing heavily, and infinitely more relaxed than when her run began. The sky was just beginning to darken outside, and Jan greeted her warmly, handing her a bottle of water as she took her cash from her.

"So," the old woman smirked, "What's the scoop on that pretty young man from last night?" Jan slid the plate in front of Jess and leaned in expectantly.

"I wish I could remember," Jess said around a mouthful of Alfredo and chicken, "Last night is pretty fuzzy," she admitted guiltily.

"Oh, you hush. You deserve it, baby," Jan tapped the counter with her index finger. "You left here and he had his arm around you, it was good to see you flirting for a change!"

Jess' mouth popped open, "Flirting?!" Jan nodded in agreement, "I don't flirt, Jan..." she trailed off, feeling the colour rising in her cheeks.

"Jess," Jan admonished her, "Now, I know that Jacob is the only man you've ever been with, and there's nothing wrong with that. Sooner or later, honey, you're gonna have to get back out there. You're young, and you're so pretty. Don't let that jerk dictate the rest of your life, ok?" Jess didn't say anything, only nodded in agreement and finished her food. "You go on home, and you call that boy. He might be a little young, but there's nothing the matter with that, either. At least, not when I see him walking away," she winked and shooed Jess out the door.

Jess slid into her old Chevy, touching her lips thoughtfully as she thought of Mesut. She realized that she wasn't sure how old he was. She was nervous last night, and didn't think to ask him questions, only responded to his. She had no way of contacting him, no way to call him as Jan had suggested.

"Idiot," she muttered to herself.

Later that night, Jess sunk herself deep into her claw foot tub, closing her eyes and unwinding. She tried her hardest to remember the end of her evening the night before. She remembered Mesut wearing khaki slacks, a grey T-shirt with a white shirt beneath it. The image of them kissing outside of the rental car suddenly flooded her brain again; except this time she tasted the mint from his gum, smelled his leathery cologne, felt the scruff of his chin on hers and his fingers kneading the flesh in her hip.

Suddenly, her bath was way too hot.


End file.
